"I hope it will be. So far my experiments haven't turned out successfully. But I can't understand how anyone outside our plant could have known about them."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "They Left After Dinner."]

Mr. Damon could tell little more about his self-styled relatives.

After giving a description of the two men he took his leave. The boys were rather worried about the information he had brought along.

"It's not so much the gla.s.s," said Tom, "for we don't know if it will be a success. What bothers me is the idea of there being a traitor in the shops. I thought we had weeded out all unscrupulous employees."

[Ill.u.s.tration: He Described the Two Men]

"The Apex Gla.s.s Works are located in Portville," said Ned, struck with an idea, "fifty miles north of here. Mr. Damon's visitors claimed to have business up state. To my mind that's more than a coincidence, especially since the Apex people would give their back teeth to get hold of your formula, Tom!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "That's More Than Coincidence."]

CHAPTER III

AN ACCIDENT

"Oh, I think you're letting your imagination run away with you, Ned,"

grinned Tom. "I know Mr. Stern, the president of Apex, very well, and I'm positive that he wouldn't stand for any underhanded tactics."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I Know Mr. Stern," Grinned Tom]

"I hope you're right," said his business manager. "But you know better than anyone else how unscrupulous gangs have tried to steal your inventions. At first it was Happy Harry the tramp, and the last was Doctor Bane. No telling how many thugs were after you and your father in between. You'd be wise to get some extra guards."

"I think Koku is well able to handle any intruder," declared Tom confidently. "Besides, I think you're getting excited over nothing. You know Mr. Damon is inclined to make mountains out of molehills."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Koku Is Able to Handle Anyone."]

"That's all very well," persisted his friend stubbornly, "but just suppose Mr. Damon is right in his suspicions? It'd be too late then to do anything about it."

"Don't worry, old man. My Chest of Secrets will hold its contents secure against any burglar's attack. Now it's late. You'd better stay to dinner. Afterward, if you care to and have no other date, we can talk over some unfinished business."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Chest Would Guard the Secrets]

"Thanks, Tom. I'll be glad to spend the evening with you."

Locking up the laboratory, the two boys walked leisurely through the warm June twilight toward the big white house. Low in the sky hung the silvery crescent of the new moon, while almost overhead Mars glowed brightly.

"There's our goal, Ned," murmured Tom, pointing to the red planet. "I feel sure that our meteorite came from that far-off world!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "There's Our Goal, Ned."]

"Granting that it did come from another planet," objected Ned, "I don't get the reason why you're so sure it came from Mars. There are nine planets circling the sun, including the earth. Ruling out the sun, it seems to me that there is but one chance in eight that you are right."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Nine Planets Circle the Sun."]

"If it were simply a matter of chance, there'd be a lot of weight behind your argument, Ned. But a lot of other factors enter the problem. I should say that the only planets where life as we know it might exist are Mars and Venus. The latter I ruled out, for astronomers have found that it is forever covered thickly with dense clouds. Thus the inhabitants, if any, must be ignorant of any world but their own."

"What have people on the planets got to do with the question, anyhow?"

asked Ned. "Huge chunks of metal break off of any heavenly body and go hurtling through s.p.a.ce. The inhabitants don't throw them off!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Chunks of Metal Rushing Through s.p.a.ce]

"But our meteor was no ordinary one as we have proved already," replied Tom. "I firmly believe that someone on another planet deliberately fired that missile into s.p.a.ce, hoping it would reach this world. Since scientists agree that Mars probably is inhabited by a highly intelligent race, that planet is a reasonable guess."

"Whew!" whistled Ned. "Such ideas are beyond me."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Someone on Another Planet Fired the Missile."]

As he finished speaking, the boys reached the Swift residence. The young inventor's father had built the handsome white house many years before his son was born. Beyond were the several buildings where the inventions of Tom Swift and his father, Barton Swift, were manufactured.

Of recent years the latter had not been active, but had put the affairs in the hands of his capable son Tom, ably a.s.sisted by Ned Newton. The older man now spent most of his time writing scientific books and articles.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Boys Reached the Swift Residence]

The boys washed as quickly as possible so as not to delay dinner, for both possessed healthy appet.i.tes. Joining Mr. Swift in the library, they found him and Mr. Damon deep in a game of chess.

"Check!" cried Tom's father triumphantly, moving his king. "Got you again, Damon!"

"Bless my p.a.w.ns and castles!" exclaimed the eccentric gentleman. "You've won three straight games!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mr. Swift, Tom's Father]

"h.e.l.lo, Dad!" said Tom suddenly. "I see you're up to your old tricks!"

In spite of his bantering tone the young inventor was pleased that his father was relaxing in a friendly game.

"Your father shouldn't be in the amateur cla.s.s any more, Tom!" Mr. Damon grumbled playfully. "Bless my trophy cup, but I'm afraid to play with him!"

"Better luck next time," consoled Mr. Swift, a twinkle in his eye.

Mr. Damon left, refusing an invitation to dinner and saying that he had to take his car to a garage for a minor repair job before starting for his home in Waterford, a near-by town.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "h.e.l.lo, Dad," Said Tom]

"How goes it with you, son?" asked Mr. Swift when Tom returned from seeing his guest to the door. "Your new s.p.a.ce eye, as you call it--is it working out?"

"I think so, Dad, but wait until I get the big model built!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Tom Saw Mr. Damon to the Door]

"Genmens, dinnah am serbed!" An old negro thrust his white-fringed head through the library door. "An' it sho' am good!" Eradicate Sampson, so-called for his work in younger days of eradicating dirt from the homes of Shopton, had been attached to the Swift household for many years and now regarded himself as one of the family.

As they sat at table the conversation of the three turned naturally to Tom's latest invention. Mr. Swift had not heard yet all Tom's ideas of the proposed telescope and was full of eager questions.